


Charlie Calvin

by InediblePeriwinkle



Series: Triple Threat Origins [1]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Charles centric, M/M, Post-Triple Threat Ending | TT (Henry Stickmin), fics that explore people's backgrounds, not a happy fic, ship is only hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Ellie's vacation to visit her family brings up some memories that Charles really tries hard not to think about. But at nearly 30, isn't it time to finally face the things he's spent his whole life ignoring?A family-centric fic exploring Charles' background.
Relationships: Charles Calvin/Henry Stickmin
Series: Triple Threat Origins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086500
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	1. A soft person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick minific for you all, enjoy!

So, admittedly, this all kicked off because Ellie took a vacation. 

While she was gone, Charles and Henry had hung out together in town outside base, living in a two-room apartment and dicking around town. Just two normal bros and totally not covert ops agents. But really, that had been fun, he’d had a great time acting like a stupid kid along with Henry. 

It was all just so...normal. Nice. They’d been in a good mood even if they missed the absent friend in their trio. 

And honestly he suspected she missed them too, ‘cause when Ellie came back she came straight to the apartment and jabbingly complimented Charles’ ability to keep Henry from trashing the place. 

“Yeah, some of us are used to getting inspections,” Charles flopped onto the couch, on his stomach, shoving toast into his mouth. “And _some of us_ get preferential treatment.” 

Henry had shot him a dirty look from where he sat on the counter. 

It was true, though. General G didn’t force either thief into as strict of a lifestyle as Charles. It was more like they were consultants, sort of. Guests. 

If he were more of a selfish jerk, he'd be _so_ jealous.

“You should have seen him try to start the dishwasher,” Charles confided in Ellie solely because Henry glared at him like that, “It sure was something.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, throwing her coat onto the coffee table and plopping down.

“How bad of a something?” She asked, intrigued. 

“Well, the dishes got cleaned.” 

Henry scowled at him over her head. Charles pretended not to notice. 

“And most of the kitchen floor. Part of the living room.” 

Ellie laughed, brightly, and Henry signed something rude in Charles’ direction. He shot the thief a charming wink along with a signature thumbs-up. 

“It’s like the laundry incident all over again,” Ellie said cheerfully. “Remember that, Henry?” 

The thief was no longer looking at either of them, pouting to himself like a grown child. 

“Ohhh, man,” Charles laughed. “I thought we were gonna get kicked out of that place.” 

“Lucky they need us too much.” 

“Right?!” 

“But seriously,” Ellie said cheerfully, “It was actually a good trip. I was fucking shocked.” 

Both boys looked interested. 

“Yeah?” Charles couldn’t help. “You said your sister had a baby.” 

“Yep,” Ellie fished her phone out of her pocket, “My niece. She’s three, and a little shit. Super cute, already a troublemaker.” 

Henry was curious enough to let his pouting go to wander over, peering over the redhead’s shoulder to look at the picture of a little girl clinging delightedly onto her newly-found aunt. 

Cute. He could see the resemblance, actually, something mischievous in both smiles and bright in the crinkle of the eyes. 

It reminded him of something that made his skin crawl, memories darting around his head like frightened tadpoles. 

When was the last time he even talked to his mom? 

Charles cracked his knuckles as Ellie chatted to Henry, palms sweating. 

“Yeah, I hadn’t seen her since I was like...fifteen, I guess,” The woman told her friend, “I wasn’t sure she’d even recognize me. I forgot what she even looked like, it was so weird. I can’t even begin to explain it.” 

Henry was signing to Ellie but he didn’t know what he said. He couldn’t really see. Charles wiped his hands on his jeans. 

“Nah, it’s great, the kid thinks I’m the coolest person in the world. I’m built to be the weird aunt, I’ll probably go back for the holidays. My sister doesn’t talk to the rest of my family, which is fine with me.” 

He didn’t know what his looked like, which was weird. He was on better terms than it sounded like Ellie was, so this was weird. He didn’t really think about it much, but he didn’t have pictures. 

That was weird. That wasn’t normal, right? He’d never asked, he tried not to think about it because it made his chest ache, made him feel small, young, a dumb little kid again. 

He lifted his eyes from his own hands. Ellie and Henry were looking at him. 

“Huh?” Charles tried to think if he’d heard a question directed at him. “Sorry, lost in thought.” 

The problem with having two of the world’s greatest criminals as his best friends was they seemed to have a very strong bullshit-alert built in. 

It was nice, sometimes, that they were attuned so carefully into his emotions, but goddamn sometimes he just wanted things to fly under the radar without getting an interrogation. 

“You okay there, Charles?” Ellie’s tone was serious, no jokes or nicknames. 

“Yeah?” The pilot tried to laugh it off. “Why?” 

Both thieves stared him down, clearly expecting him to crumble. And he would, usually, just give in under the scrutiny if he couldn’t hide it well enough. 

Not today. He wasn’t dealing with that today, not with something like this. 

Charles stood, smiling in what he hoped was a normal way, reaching for his coat. 

“Where are _you_ going?” Ellie asked, clearly bewildered. 

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Charles told her, swinging on his military jacket. “I’m glad your trip is nice and I’m glad you’re home safe. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.” 

He closed the door behind him, cursing himself out for letting his emotions slip out of him like that. 

God, that wasn’t remotely subtle. 

The door swung open behind him, and Charles shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his steps. 

That did not deter Henry Stickmin, who matched his pace with ease and gave him a stony sort of look. 

The look sort of irritated him. He saw it on missions all the time, when he was worrying over his team and being protective. It really annoyed him here. Like he was a misbehaving child who was required to give any reason at all. Like Henry had any right to demand things from him! Especially when he constantly, _always_ respected the thief’s private history and life. 

He always did this, and he always crumbled, the thief was a serious weakness for his stupid, weak personality. Not this time. Charles was a grown-ass man- nearly thirty years old! -and when Henry reached for his elbow the pilot ripped it away. 

“Look, I’m not required to tell you anything!” Charles snapped, “So quit following me!” 

Henry was frozen, shock written on his face. 

Yeah, well, that pissed him off too. He was Charles, right? Cheerful and laid back, lazily cautious and eager to step in and burst through buildings. Shocking, right? That maybe he had feelings outside just being their friendly voice in their ears? 

“Maybe it’s my turn to be moody,” He told the thief, “You guys get enough turns.” 

That irritated Henry, he could see it flit across his face in the furrow of his brow, the tenseness in his jaw. 

He'd tell the thief he was sorry but he wasn't. Sometimes a guy could only take so much.

To his surprise, the thief suddenly gripped his shoulder, hand warm and strong. The other man looked serious, keeping eye contact, signing with his free hand. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

Charles flinched. The anger drained from his body in an instant, sending his shoulder slumping. He looked into the genuine expression in Henry’s face. The softness there. And man did he feel like a giant jerk. 

Henry squeezed his shoulder and Charles’ throat constricted. 

“Sorry,” He forced the word through his lips. “I’m really tired.” 

Henry _clearly_ did not believe that in the slightest. He nodded anyway, thumb rubbing through the thick fabric of his jacket, pressing into his shoulder like a pressure point. 

‘No,’ Henry kept one hand on his shoulder, continuing his soothing motions. ‘Your turn.’ 

Charles swallowed. 

Henry let him take a moment, never let him go, let him collect his thoughts in the middle of the apartment hallways. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Charles finally said, staring at a spot on the wall above Henry’s head. “It’s kind of personal.” 

He could see the thief nod, felt him stroke down his shoulder. 

That felt kind of nice. Charles’ heart ached, gaze falling like he was the dumb kid he was trying not to be, still a delicate, pathetic little thing hiding under a better persona. He sighed, so loudly that Henry’s hand twitched. 

“If you want to know-”

“No.” 

Charles looked back up, surprised, to Henry looking quite ferocious. The fingers dug into his shoulder. 

“If you want to tell me, tell me,” Henry told him, voice firm as the grip on his sleeve, “If you don’t, don’t. But I’m here.” 

He swallowed. 

It would be so hard to explain even if he did. And he still wasn’t sure if he should feel this bad about it, if it was just him who was being dramatic, childish. He didn’t _know_. 

“It’s just really personal,” Words spilled over his lips freely. “You know? And I don’t even really understand most of it myself, uh...it’s just really hard to explain to somebody.” 

Henry nodded. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Henry nodded a little more quickly. 

“But if I do,” Charles offered him a crooked sort of smile, half-hearted and tired, “I’ll come to you first.” 

The smile he got in return was so sweet it nearly did damage to his chipped heart. 

Henry took a quick look down the hall, wrapping his arm around Charles in a half-hug. 

The pilot was squeezed against the thief, something he’d never seen Henry do with anyone, and he was going to start tearing up if Henry kept trying to make him feel better. He was afraid to lean into it, afraid he'd scare the guy off, but Henry held him close for a good twenty seconds before letting him go. 

Henry let him go and Charles felt weirdly sniffly. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, Hen,” He reassured his friend with a little more cheer than he felt. “It’s okay.” 

Henry crossed his arms in front of him, listening without giving Charles anything to read off him. 

“You should go talk with Ellie,” The pilot told him gently. “I really do need to go. Okay?” 

Henry nodded just once, not moving. But he let Charles leave without following him, though he felt his eyes on his back the entire way to the stairs up to their shared apartment. 

Man, he needed to sort this out. He was too old for this to even bother him, right? This couldn't be right. Maybe he'd send his mother a text tonight, see if in between missions they could reconnect. 

That had to be right, right? Maybe he could get over this weird feeling he had if they had a chance to chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Where does Charles go on his days off?


	2. Lunch

It was rare that he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Even just hanging out with Ellie and Henry, he was usually in his jacket at least. Not for like, any clout or anything, but it was familiar. Comforting. Gave him confidence. 

Today, however, he walked into the little bistro just wearing a sweater and jeans. No headset. It felt weird, honestly. Like he was walking somewhere naked. 

He stepped in regardless, smiling blandly at the employee at the kiosk. He took his hands out of his pockets to gesture towards the back. 

“I’m meeting someone here.” 

He slipped by, heart keeping beat with his quick footsteps as he walked into the dining room. 

Yes, there, still taking notes from her phone, sitting in a corner booth. A rather pretty sort of lady, the kind who looked younger than her years until you saw the faint lines by her eyes, or else knew she dyed the grey from her hair. 

Charles’ heart was in his throat, a panicked sort of beating that threatened to choke him. He came to stand by the table, looking down at her, shoulders tensed. 

His shadow fell over her notes, wild curls making a bizarre silhouette on the paper, and he took a step backward. 

Cassidy Clark, (nee Calvin), looked up from her book. It was as if she needed a second to recognize him before smiling brightly, closing the book on the table. 

“Charlie!” She exclaimed, and stood, nearly knocking her drink over, to open an arm to him. 

He swallowed, stepping close, and Charles hugged his mother from the side.

She was small enough that he had to lean to rest his chin on her head, trying desperately to shove frayed feelings to the side for now. 

“Oh, Sweetie, how are you?” 

His mother drew back, to arm’s length, radiant, pen fidgeting in her free hand. 

“I’m good, Mom,” He said, taking her in. “How are you?” 

“Good, good, come sit down,” The woman gestured, sitting back in her booth across from him, folding over her notes neatly. She plopped down with more enthusiasm than grace. “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh, just water.” Charles slid into the free both, hands folded on the table. 

She looked older. He ran a thumb over his own hand in a soothing motion, trying to take a breath. Relax. 

Yeah, she looked older. It had been a while, though, and he could still see the similarities. People always said he looked like his mama, with high cheekbones and the soft eyes that always looked a little dazed. Her nose. 

Someone once told him his jawline, his height and hair, his sunshine smile? Had been his father. 

Charles didn’t know about that. Not like he had a picture. 

No, he looked a lot like his mom. Everyone said so. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” His mother reached across the table, squeezed his hand. “How are you? What have you been doing?” 

“Yeah, Mom, yeah, I’m good,” Charles drew his shoulders up by his ears, offering a tiny, shy smile. “I can’t say a ton about work. But I’m still doing good.” 

“Of course you are,” Cassidy picked up her glass, smiling through the sip. “I heard from Dad that you were in charge of a group now, I was worried about it being dangerous.” 

Well, the most he’d told his grandfather was he’d been promoted, General G must have given him that info. 

“Yeah,” He said, looking next to him in the booth like he could manifest his friends on sheer will. “Yeah, uh...I’ve got a little group. They’re really great, we’ve been working a lot of missions together.” 

“Sounds like you’re having fun,” His mother flipped over her menu. “I’m glad to hear it, Charlie.” 

A weird expression passed over Charles’ face. He wasn’t doing a school project with these people, after all. He was a ten-year veteran in the army with his own covert ops squad, delving into the untouchable criminal depths of the greatest thieving organization on the planet. 

_Yes_ , it was fun! But it sounded weird when it was said like that. 

“Yeah,” He said again, fidgeting with the menu. “Yeah.” 

He was a grown man and he didn’t need to pick at her words. She didn’t get it, that was okay. Oh man, he needed something to talk about, though. He was starting to sweat from nerves. 

Okay. Calm down. This was his mother, not something wildly at stake. Funnily enough, he might feel calmer if it were. He’d seen Henry speak full paragraphs in order not to get caught on missions- (and he sometimes found words wouldn’t come in normal conversations)- Ellie slip behind dangerous lines to infiltrate groups, (and she hated talking to people) -he himself regularly crashed into buildings or jumped into Toppat bases to retrieve his friends. 

C’mon, Calvin, this was easy. Talk about something you know. 

“No, yeah, they’re great people,” Charles’ ankle bounced as he folded his hands over his menu. “I’m glad my base isn’t too far out, it’s nice to see you.” 

“It is! I was thinking that when you called me,” His mother offered, settling him with a soft sort of look. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to see you!” 

He nodded, silent. Probably his twenty-fifth birthday, if he had to guess. He’d asked to see her then, and that was coming up on four years ago. Which was normal, he was an adult, one who worked in undercover government stuff, he didn’t get to see her a lot. It was normal. 

Ellie’s visit to her sister itched at his brain. Going back for the holidays. She’d be going back to Canada in a month or so, and not only was she undercover she was still wanted by The Wall. _In Canada_. 

Charles looked down at his menu, peering up at his mother from under long hair he hadn’t been yelled at to cut yet. 

Was this on him? Should he have made a better effort? 

He cracked his knuckles rhythmically. 

“Order whatever you want, Charlie, I’m treating today.” 

Why was he getting so annoyed? She was being nice to him, she was being nice, she looked so happy to see him and she’d said nothing but nice things the entire time. Why was he annoyed? 

He had money, he had a _lot_ of money, actually, because he’d saved almost everything since he first started. Was that why this was irritating him? 

“Thanks.” 

His phone was buzzing in his pocket. He took it out but didn’t look at the screen. It was probably Henry. Or Ellie telling him Henry was Eeyore-ing around without him. 

Look, Henry might be kind of a dork, but he could remain cool under pressure. Charles could do this. Shove all this aside for later, enjoy getting to spend time with his mom. 

If he looked at the message he was going to get sucked into whatever was going on back home, so he turned it off without checking to see what was said. 

His mother looked interested, however, raised eyebrows and a pointed look. 

“Boyfriend?” She asked, “You could have brought him.” 

For some reason the thought of bringing Henry to lunch with his mom along with him made him feel queasy. He opened his mouth to make an excuse: He’s busy, he’s shy, he’s allergic to everything here, when he realized his best excuse was just the truth. 

Technically, he and Henry weren’t dating. 

“Nnnno,” Charles drew the word out, long. “I’m just...kind of not dating anyone right now.” 

Though he wouldn’t be opposed to dating Henry. Like at all. ‘Cause hey, man, they were toeing the line between a bromance and fading out the ‘b’ from the word entirely. But he wasn’t really sure where they stood. He’d throw himself into a dumpster if he scared Henry off by getting ahead of themselves so he wasn’t going to do a damn thing until he was sure Henry was on the same page. So no. He was technically single. 

“No rush,” Cassidy reminded him. “You’re still young. I didn’t meet my husband until I was a good deal older than you, Charlie.” 

Not a good deal, technically, she’d been 34 when she got married. Like five years difference, there. 

But hey, this was actually a great segue. 

“Oh, speaking of that, Mom,” Charles piped up, leaning on his forearms over the table. “How’s Aiden and Mason?” 

The woman looked up, surprised, smile melting to something warm. “You remembered their names!” 

Charles’ own smile froze on his face. 

No no, no. Covert ops time. Focus on the end goal, no matter how bad you’re hurt or how much trouble you’re in. Focus. 

“Uh, yeah,” His hands were folded together so tightly it hurt. “Yeah, of course I do. Aiden’s got to be like...nine now, right?” 

“Almost nine,” His mother confirmed. “And Mason is-”

“Six,” Charles finished. “I have a pretty good memory.” 

“I’d say so.” Cassidy folded her hands to match her son’s. “They’re both doing good. They’re good.” 

Under her eyes, he felt so small. Young. Previously he’d smile and turn the subject, bring up something to make her laugh, brighten the mood. 

He was a Sunshine Boy, she’d called him once when he was single digits in age and had to tilt his head up to look at her. Built to bring people happiness in everything he said and did, just by being himself. 

Today Charles had to look down to look her in the eyes. Today he was made of storm clouds. 

There was a moment, before every heist, where Triple Threat split off into their groups. Ellie and Henry on the ground, Charles in the air. That tense moment where they leapt from the helicopter, or took off over rough terrain, that was the single and only moment he ever got scared on a mission. 

That split second where he had to take breath and be a goddamn adult, not give in to the childish want of _no, stay here, stay safe_ that played occasionally inside his brain. 

Charles ripped himself away from those moments, flattened his palms against the table, and just asked her. 

“Are you ever going to let me meet them?” 

The question hung in the air between them like a blaring neon sign. 

Cassidy had not expected a question like that. He could read that in her tense, frozen posture, the quick swipe of sheer _horror_ that flit through her eyes and then left, something cooler and careful in their wake. 

Charles set his jaw and did not look away. 

“Charlie,” His mother’s voice was gentle. “What’s bringing this on?” 

He had to swallow past the first three sentences he wanted to say, each nastier than the last, and settled on being diplomatic. 

“I want to meet them,” He left a measured space in between each word so she’d be sure to catch them all. “Mason and Aiden.” 

“Why?” Cassidy asked. 

Charles exhaled, something that might’ve turned into a laugh if there was anything funny about it. “Why do I want to meet my brothers, Mom?!” 

“Half brothers,” She said, and that pissed him off beyond anything else. 

“Half- yeah, I get that, but I still want to meet my own- are you _kidding_ me?” 

Charles was vaguely aware he was shaking. His fingers skittered on the table. 

His mother was staring at him like she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. When she spoke, her voice was as cautious as if she were talking to a wounded animal. 

“Charlie, what brought this on?” 

“Nothing brought it on!” Charles ignored the memory of a young Ellie, abandoning her family as a child and reconnecting on her own will, getting to meet her little niece for the first time and hug her, be a cool older figure, get to know a tiny little person she shared blood with. “I’ve _always_ wanted to meet them.” 

“You’ve never brought it up before.” 

“Well I’m bringing it up now,” He said between gritted teeth. “I’m guessing this is a no, huh?” 

Cassidy’s lips were pressed together tightly. Eyes watering. 

No. Don’t apologize. Stay firm. You’re a nearly-thirty-year-old man, you have no reason to have that hurt you so bad. 

He clenched his hands into fists. “Mom.” 

“It’s not that easy,” Cassidy said, voice trembling and terrible and quiet. “It wouldn’t be easy to explain.” 

“Lots of people have blended families, Mom,” Charles kept his tone even and cool even though he was shivering. “They manage it.” 

“This isn’t other people, Charles, this is us,” The woman fired back. “It’s not that easy.” 

“Why.” 

“Is this why you wanted to go to lunch?” Cassidy asked, incredulous. “To tell me how awful of a mother I am?” 

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Charles was losing ground. He was starting to freak out, like he had when he was little, he couldn’t upset her. 

Oh god, he should have brought Henry after all, he needed him, him and Ellie, to back him up when everyone else was telling him he was a moron, wrong, doubted his plans and thoughts and wrote him off as stupid. 

They’d back him up. If they were here. 

“I’m...grown, Mom,” He said, focusing on the condensation dripping down his glass. “And I’ve never met them. That’s weird. That’s...it feels bad, when I’d really like to meet them. You don’t-”

You don’t have to tell them who I am. 

The Henry and Ellie in his head both screeched at him in irate protest, and Charles bit the words back. 

“It’s weird, Mom,” Charles finished lamely. “Does your husband even know about me?” 

“Of course he does,” His mother snapped. She caught herself, steadying her voice much like Charles was. “I don’t _lie_ about you, Charlie.” 

The army boy glanced up, sideways, into her eyes. 

“So it’s no,” He pressured her, all six-foot-two, ace pilot, covert ops agent. “If it’s no, say it’s no.” 

“It’s not right now,” The woman told him. “Not now.” 

“When.” 

“You are pushing _way_ too hard,” His mother said, leaning onto the table. Her voice was wavering. “I will leave.” 

The emotions that flooded into Charles nearly choked him. 

Being dropped off at his grandparents for what he thought was a playdate and never picked up. Hearing his mother cry at night for weeks beforehand. Seeing from a distance, through phone calls and social media, as she restarted her life. Went to school, married, had more children. Watching her finally be happy, really happy, in a life that didn’t include an accidental son. 

Charles’ lips trembled. 

It was no. It was always going to be no. He didn’t even have a picture of- they didn’t even know their big brother _existed_ , so- 

Was he selfish? Was he being mean to her? _Did_ he bring her out here to harass her? 

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. Charles felt like he was seconds from crying, grown-ass man that he was. Did he have any right to ask to meet his siblings? Was he just being...just a big, jealous jerk because Ellie got to meet her family and he didn’t? 

He’d ruined this already. But one thing he absolutely wasn’t, was a quitter. Maybe he wasn’t some Sunshine Boy, but he was damn well a Bold Action Man when it came right down to it. 

“Fine,” He said, the word come out wet and warbly. “I get it. And I won’t ask again.” 

Charles Calvin looked her in the eyes. “So then I have a different question.” 

Cassidy set her jaw, just like her son’s. The two stared each other down over the table. 

Charles’ fingernails dug into his palms. “Whatever happened to the guy who fathered me?”


	3. Sunshine

He hadn’t told Henry when he was going to be home, so coming home so late wasn’t really a super bad thing or anything. 

He still snuck in, but it was after midnight, he looked a mess, and he just didn’t want to answer any questions. Or more that’s how he rationalized it, honestly he really wasn’t thinking clearly. If at all. 

He was sweaty, sweater clinging to his arms uncomfortably. He should get back to his room. Shower. Go to bed before he woke Henry. 

He didn’t move. 

Charles stared blankly at the keys in his hand. He should have hung those up by the front door. 

He continued to stand in the kitchen, the clock in their little living room ticking along, the glow of the digital digits on their oven the only clear thing he could see. 

That little green light was reflecting off something. Probably the dishes he and Henry used this morning at breakfast. 

Damn, he’d really almost skipped eating because he was so nervous about today. Had been anticipating this for days. Had planned what he had to say so carefully, wanted to just have a real, adult conversation and get some things actually...you know. Resolved, maybe. 

Charles threw down his keys on the counter, listening to the sound with satisfaction. 

He should have known better. He should’ve...should've seen the signs, recognized that he was running into a brick wall. 

He’d never pushed before, should he have pushed before? He pushed too hard now, everything was shattered, but could he really have fucked it all up if it were fucked to begin with? 

It was fucked. So fucked, and he’d tried not to notice it. 

He was an idiot. 

He’d acted stupid, thinking he could get this one thing. Naive, pathetic, a groveling little brat and his mother had wanted none of it even though all he wanted was to _meet his own brothers_ and now everything was out in the open, done, forever, and he’d never look at her again without knowing everything she did. 

Everything he didn’t have. 

Charles swiped his arm across the counter, sending porcelain plates and bowls and a mug flying onto the floor. 

The mug shattered on impact, the others in larger pieces. Charles angrily kicked at them, slamming his hands down on the countertop. 

He asked her for one thing. 

One thing. 

But he wasn’t “right” enough for her to want him around. Wasn’t good enough, her little Sunshine Boy, was too painful of a reminder to want to taint her perfect, beautiful new family by daring to _exist_ like he did. 

He slammed his fist down again, needing the pain in that instant, wanting it, and feeling something click in his hand. 

He felt demeaned. Betrayed. She’d always looked at him like this, like less, and while all the signs were there he’d been too stupid to notice them. 

He was about to try and fight the countertops a third time, to stop the racing thoughts in his mind, but he was violently yanked away from the counter by the crook of his arm. 

He stumbled, sneakers sliding on chips of porcelain on linoleum flooring, but the person behind him had him steadily by the armpits and kept him from falling. 

Charles looked up, head hitting Henry’s chest as he saw the thief stare grimly at the mess under them, avoiding his eyes. 

As quick as the anger built, it dissipated, replaced by horror and fear. 

Oh god, he’d witnessed him having a stupid little tantrum. As if he hadn’t encountered enough humiliation today. 

His legs were jelly, trembling as he tried to right himself, fight against Henry’s tugging, but once they were away from the kitchen Henry merely looked down. 

Henry was a quiet guy, but both Charles and Ellie agreed, he said a lot without words. With his face, for example. 

Henry’s jaw was clenched, like it was when he wasn’t inclined to speak. His brows were practically proclaiming his confusion at what was happening, and his dark eyes were filled with open worry. 

Charles parted his lips, trying to think of anything at all to say. 

It’s fine. 

I was sleepwalking. 

I didn’t mean to wake you. 

I’m sorry. 

“So. How was your day?” He croaked instead, head still resting against the other’s chest, and his throat promptly closed up. 

Henry stared at him, incredulous. Charles scrambled to right himself and Henry took a fistful of his now extremely-messed-up sweater and pulled. 

Charles was all but crushed into the hug, hot breaths on his shoulder where Henry pressed his face, arms so tight around him it hurt. 

He was shaking all over. He couldn’t do anything about that, couldn’t think of a good excuse for why he was suddenly super trembly, didn’t know what could possibly fix this new mess but being held felt so _good_ after today, it was _nice_. 

His vision blurred, and he tentatively wrapped fingers into Henry’s baggy tshirt, pressed himself against him tight as he could. 

Henry did nothing but adjust his grip, hold him a little tighter, and come to think of it he’d never hugged Henry before. Ellie wasn’t much for touching and he’d made a pact long ago to himself not to touch either of them unless they touched him first or met halfway. 

Nice, this was what led to it. Wasn’t that great. Wasn’t that just his brand? 

Tears were spilling down his face, but he wasn’t really crying-crying. It was more a numb leaking, something involuntary but shocked more than sad. 

Henry wasn’t letting him go, but his hands slid across his back, comforting, being so sweet without any knowledge of what was bothering him, and he really did feel obligated to say something now. 

“I’m sorry,” He forced past numb lips, “Sorry, Hen, I-” 

What could he say? How could he explain? 

It was dumb that he was so upset about it. Anyone else would have seen this coming for years. He was just stupidly hoping things would be different. 

They wouldn’t be. Not ever, now. 

“I fucked up,” He started, and, humiliatingly, was interrupted by a sob. 

That started it all off, and then he was crying like a child, heaving breaths to try and stop only to cry harder the next second. 

Henry’s hands fluttering around his back and shoulders, helpless, finally tugging down. Charles went willingly, until he was sitting on the floor, hunched over, whining with every cry like a struck dog. 

The heel of Henry’s hand rubbed along his spine, his fingers scratched soothingly, and his other hand cradled Charles’ injured one so tenderly it only spurred more tears. 

Henry’s thumb rubbed his hand, and Charles headbutt him in the chest, leading to Henry pulling him flush against and corralling him with his arms and legs. 

Charles let him, staring blankly at the dark walls of their living room, sneakers splayed on the floor as his mind spiraled, further and further. 

It felt sort of like the end, you know? It was something that he’d kept in the back of his head for such a long time, he never thought of what it would be like to have finality. The look on her face when she’d said _No, not now, not now, too hard to explain_ was something he’d carry around forever. 

He’d almost suggested that she never tell the boys who he was, if it was that big of a problem, but even after the mental image of what Ellie and Henry would think, by the end he’d been too mad to even suggest it. 

Oh man. Oh man, what would Henry think? The thought, and the realization that Henry was so close he could feel him _breathing_ spurred on a new, frantic energy. 

Charles raised his head so quickly that he knocked into Henry’s chin. 

“Sorry,” He said, through just spilling tears, wiping his face on his sleeve and holding Henry’s shoulders. 

The thief stared at him, holding his chin, such an open expression of _what-the-fuck-Charles_ that it was making him feel a bit worse. 

“Listen,” He rubbed his face on the arm of his sleeve, pulling out his phone, “Look.” 

Henry took the offered phone, still watching Charles carefully. 

No, no, no, he needed to look, to see, and Charles’ hands were shaking so hard he could barely flip to the right picture. 

“That’s them.” 

Something he’d ripped from facebook, taken without asking, the two boys starting up school this year. The two stood next to each other, in matching outfits and backpacks, smiling at the camera. 

He’d never asked, just quietly saved it, along with their Christmas pictures from last year. It was probably super wrong, but it- he- 

“My brothers.” 

His chest ached, but at least the tears were back to merely spilling down his face instead of choking him. 

Henry stared at him, gaze flitting down to the picture. He held it closer to his face, squinting, and Charles rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Listen,” He tugged at Henry’s shirt like a pathetic child in need of attention. “I went to ask. If I could meet them.” 

And he’d been so hopeful. That was the sad part. 

Henry was staring at him, frozen, gaze flitting over his face. 

“She said no.” 

Brows furrowed as Charles swiped at his eyes again, devolving again into worry as the man laughed. 

“Oh, man, Hen, I should’ve seen this coming,” He’d never dared to ask, so somewhere, on some conscious level, he’d _known._ “I should’ve, but I _didn’t_ , and she won’t let me. They don’t even know I exist, Hen. They’ve never known I’m even alive.” 

“Who?” Henry’s voice was barely a whisper, phone clutched between his two hands, “Who said no? Your…” 

He trailed off, shoulders drawing to near his earlobes, and Charles saved him the trouble of searching for the word. 

“My mom.” 

Henry lowered the phone to the floor between them, listening without breaking eye contact. 

But Charles really had nothing more to say. 

What could he do, explain the way she’d _looked_ at him? How he’d been tempted to just...give up anything, any dignity left to get what he wanted? How she threw everything away, accused him of attacking her, and then followed it all up with the biggest bombshell of all. 

He’d remember the look on her face for the rest of his life, any time he ever thought of her again. 

Henry hopped up, leaving the phone and Charles behind, and disappeared into his room. 

The pilot stared after him, a cold sort of anxiety clutching at his heart with clawed fingers, and then Henry reappeared trailing a long blanket like a cape. 

He held out a hand. 

Charles winced up at his face, trying to decipher this new look. It looked more like his Mission Face, when things were going a certain way and he wanted to take charge. When Ellie was out of ideas and Charles was grounded from the air, Henry always stepped in to pull them through. 

So he let him pull him up without protest. It was a good amount of time of trust in that look. 

Henry more or less shoved him onto the couch, bodily pushing him and immediately draping the blanket around him. 

Charles clutched at it, looking after him as Henry retrieved his phone and placed it gently on his lap, stepping away into the kitchen. He could hear the man treading over broken porcelain. 

“Are you wearing shoes?” He called to him, and received no answer. 

He might be making Henry feel anxious. No, hold on, he definitely was, because if Henry had showed up past midnight, threw things around and bawled into his shoulder about his family Charles would be absolutely _alarmed_. 

“Uhhh…” His hand really hurt. He surveyed it, immediately wincing and putting it back down. “I’m...sorry. I know I said I’d go to you first, but...yeah, I could’ve planned this better. I didn’t mean to wake you, I didn’t mean to break anything, I was...I just…” 

There had been no thoughts in his head, actually. Just pain. 

“I wasn’t asleep.” 

Henry handed him a cold glass of water over his shoulder, stepping away to snap the lights on. Charles squinted against it at first, and his friend circled the couch to come sit next to him. 

He might not’ve been asleep, but Henry looked tired. He folded the blanket more neatly around Charles’ shoulders, a grim, stony expression on his face. 

Charles leaned back against the couch, nearly sloshing water all over his lap. He looked his best friend over, tried reading every movement in his body. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry was the one who spoke, interrupting the same words from Charles’ mouth. “Sounds like hell.” 

Charles swallowed. 

“Yeah.” 

Henry had stopped messing with the blanket, but he kept his hand on his shoulder. It felt good, grounding, and Charles was careful not to move it when he took a sip of water in case Henry just forgot it was there. 

“She really…” Charles shook his head, staring at a discolored patch on the ill-painted drywall, “She really just thought I’d never think to ask. About seeing them, I mean. Like...like I could just _forget_ , I guess, that I even have siblings.” 

Henry nodded in his peripheral vision, prompted him forward. 

“I didn’t.” 

How could he? He’d known he was a big brother, he’d wanted ever since he was a literal _baby_ to have another sibling to drag on adventures or boss around and teach stuff to, it wasn’t like he was just going to think ‘oh cool’ and move on with life. 

“Mason just started first grade,” Charles traced the edges of his phone. “Aiden will be in middle school next year. I found her facebook. That’s where I got the picture.” 

From what he could tell, Aiden hated school and Mason loved it. But Mason seemed more outgoing than the older child, or maybe that was just the ages. Even he’d had some teenager moments, especially up near the end. 

Shaking away _that_ memory, Charles flipped his phone over again. 

“They’re my half-brothers,” He clenched his jaw, teeth grit. “She made sure I was reminded of that.” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened into a grip. 

He could hear the clock, again, and less blood rushing in his ears. He also, however, kinda felt weird about looking at Henry right now. 

He squirmed in his chair, unlocking his phone just to lock it again. 

He ought to say something, but everything that wanted to come out of his mouth sounded wrong. 

The hand on his shoulder tentatively touched the nape of his neck, which jolted electricity through the touch to Charles’ own fingertips. 

Henry was close, and for a moment he was actually afraid he was going to kiss him. Which- look, it wouldn’t be _unwanted_ but just…no. Not right now. 

But no, Henry gently rested his own head against Charles’, into something so tender it made his heart ache. 

“I’d be mad,” Henry told him, so close it ghosted his ear. “It’s okay.” 

Well that just started the water works again, and honestly he hadn’t cried this much since he was a literal kid. Charles scrubbed at his cheeks and Henry stayed close, a warm, comforting body and steady presence. Whether intentional or not, it prompted him further. 

“It gets worse,” Charles swallowed, cracking the knuckles of his free hand. “I asked her about...you know. The guy who fathered me.” 

Henry nodded again, slowly, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, uh, turns out the boys aren’t the only ones who don’t know I exist,” Charles laughed, a manic, wild thing. “They’d broken up by the time she found out and she just didn’t tell him. Didn’t tell her parents, either. No one knew who he was.” 

“Who is he?” The words were out of Henry’s mouth almost immediately, laced in curiosity. 

Charles shrugged. 

Henry’s gaze narrowed. 

‘Don’t know?’ The thief signed, leaning further into his view. 

“She won’t tell me.” 

She seemed confused as to why he was asking in the first place. It was like she didn’t understand, that maybe he wanted to know these things. Needed to. As if a little boy, being raised alone by his grandparents after his mama up and left him there, wouldn’t wonder if his daddy might love him a little more? 

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Charles swiped his face, leaning forward to set the glass of water on the coffee table. “That part.” 

Henry was shaking his head, but Charles didn’t even look at his hands. 

“Look, I’d be too old to reach out to him anyway,” He twisted his hands, causing pain in his newly injured one, “I’m nearly thirty, Henny. Imagine going about your life to find out you have a son after _thirty years_.” 

It was a bad sign that Henry didn’t even make a face at the nickname. His expression was impassive but pointed. Listening. 

“Hen,” Charles dropped his face into his hands, “I don’t have anything. She left me with _nothing_.” 

Tears formed again, but these were angry. Angry at years he might’ve had elsewhere, knowing others, having a _family_ , and maybe he was entitled to that and maybe he wasn’t, but he didn’t care. He’d wanted it! And no one had to give him anything in return, he wasn’t looking for anything! Just a- he just- 

“Fuck her,” Charles hissed into his palms, the words stinging as he said them for the first time, “I mean it.” 

He was pulled back against Henry’s chest, and he went willingly, legs tangling in blankets. 

He could feel the man breathing, hands rested on his chest and laced together, keeping him close but not confined. 

God, he loved Henry. His heart ached. 

“I should have said something sooner,” Charles rested his own hands over Henry’s, staring blandly off at the wall. “I was afraid to push her. I was scared, and if I asked a little harder a little earlier I might’ve gotten it.” 

He was so focused, wanted so badly to be her little Sunshine Boy, he never thought seriously about it. Maybe he should have been a little crueller, a little less of a cheerful doormat. 

“I doubt she would have told you, Charles,” Henry’s voice was quiet but firm. “From what you tell me.” 

“Now I’ll never know,” Charles bit. “I was stupid about this whole thing.” 

“You were a kid,” Henry flicked his ear. “Don’t do this, Charles.” 

That was such an Ellie thing to do and say Charles was pretty sure he’d picked it up from her. He rubbed his ear, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“What’s...another thing really bothering me,” He looked up, hair tickling Henry’s jawline, “Did I want this just because Ellie went back and saw her family?” 

His thief cocked his head, springy brown curls now touching his cheek. “Ellie?” 

“Yeah.” 

It took no time for Henry to understand what he was talking about. 

“You were upset after she came back,” The thief spoke slowly, level. “That’s why?” 

“Yeah.” 

Which was shitty of him, still was, but if Henry knew the whole story, all sides of it, Charles wouldn’t feel like he was making himself look better about this all. It was a shitty situation and he was being shitty too, it was just a fucking mess and he was totally drained of it all. 

“We could have Ellie come down here.” 

Charles froze. “Yeah, I don’t want to tell her that.” 

“No,” Henry moved a hand until it rested over Charles’ heart, looking down into his eyes with a strange, warming softness. “You don’t have to. But there’s a pizza delivery that’s 24 hours. Ellie can talk with you, too, just be us three.” 

It was a lot of words for Henry and Charles had to swallow. When did his aloof, bitter thief become so...so… 

His smile trembled. “She’s probably asleep.” 

“She’s not,” Henry interrupted him. “We were texting.” 

At midnight? Charles’ expression must have portrayed his confusion because Henry shrugged. 

“You were late coming back,” He brushed back Charles’ curls and nearly lit the man on fire. 

They were wondering where he was. They’d stayed up late to talk about it. 

The tears were back, but Charles laughed this time, all wobbly and low. “I love you guys.” 

Henry’s answering smile warmed him like sunshine. 

There was nothing really that any of them could do. 

His mother had the right to deny him visiting right to his brother. His father- the unknown man- would go to his grave not knowing he had a son who was a Covert Ops military agent. There was nothing more that Charles could ever do, and nothing he could ever ask his friends for, either. 

But they did crowd on the couch together, with boxes of disgustingly greasy pizza and cheap wine, watching shitty movies on Ellie’s laptop with tears still drying on Charles’ cheeks. 

Ellie didn’t ask specifics when Charles mentioned he’d had a bad run in with his mom. Of course not, that wasn’t her style, but he appreciated her even more than usual for that in this moment. No, she just sat next to him, threatening to take his blanket if he didn’t share, and fell asleep on his shoulder halfway through the first movie. 

Which was something he couldn’t have pictured her doing even six months ago. He stayed still as possible after that, choking up once again. 

Henry stayed awake a little later, an arm around Charles’ shoulders, and shrugged off any and all apologies given. 

“You deserve better,” Was the last thing he said, simple and cold, and Charles had tugged him in to lie on him also. 

So it was that his two closest friends fell asleep on him, leaving him watching the last of the trilogy awake, but not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had quite nearly decided against the chapter, I like how it sounds with just the two, but it left everything completely without any semblence of closure. 
> 
> So think of this as an informal third part.


End file.
